From the time I was five, we’ve always had dogs. My first dog was a miniature collie named Wolf. Somehow, Wolf got out and was picked up by animal control and I never saw him again because my mom didn’t have the money to bail him out of the shelter.

Growing up in Southeast Texas, a culture I didn’t resonate with, I often found it difficult to relate to many people in the community, leaving me feeling deeply alienated. During those years, we had a white cocker spaniel with brown spots named Fancy. She was the only loving connection I had and her being there helped me to make it through that difficult time. Fancy was heartbroken when I left at the age of seventeen and passed away within a few years.

Since leaving on my own, I’ve moved a number of times. I completed high school and my first two years of college in Oklahoma. Afterwards, I stayed with my mentor, Horace Daukei, a traditional doctor (medicine man) from the Kiowa Tribe, who lived with his wife and three youngest children on the Navajo Indian Reservation in northwestern New Mexico. From there, I went on to complete a bachelor’s degree in Durango, Colorado, then lived in Kansas City, Missouri, for a few years, followed by Albuquerque, New Mexico. Over the past few decades, I’ve lived in and spent significant time in New York City, Boston, India and Sri Lanka, and visited a number of other countries.

I’ve always adored dogs and would have loved to have one of my own to care for, but traveling so much made that impossible. In many instances, though, I’ve bonded with the dogs of friends and of people I’ve worked with and street dogs that I've encountered.

My mom and her husband, who has since passed away, took in a stray schnauzer they named Prince while they were still living in southeast Texas. Not long after they moved to northern Idaho, Prince became seriously ill and passed away. Devastated by Prince’s death and wanting another silver schnauzer, my mom responded to an ad in the local newspaper for schnauzer puppies. Murphy, the new pup, wasn’t very responsive at first, partly due to the trauma he had experienced earlier in life. Like many schnauzers, he was headstrong, and his personality sometimes clashed with my mom’s. Murphy didn’t bark incessantly, but he sometimes serenaded the neighbors, which drove my mom crazy. I think he was just lonely and needed more love and attention. Out of frustration, mom threatened to get rid of Murphy on many occasions.

Although I was spending most of my time in Boston, New York City and abroad, Murphy and I bonded deeply whenever I returned to visit. He always grieved when I left, as I would be gone for months at a time. I longed to settle down and partner with someone so I could give Murphy a permanent home, and so he would always be there for me to come back to. Sadly, that opportunity never came. My heart ached as the years passed, knowing Murphy's time on Earth was limited. On April 15, 2019, just a few weeks shy of his fourteenth birthday, Murphy was put down. I missed him terribly and grieved his loss for a long time afterward.

Visiting mom after losing Murphy, I felt a profoundly empty void, especially during the COVID lockdown. Murphy's ashes sat in a box on the dresser. I would sometimes hold the box in my hands while I sat meditating.

In the summer of 2021, my mom responded to another ad. She spoke with a breeder and reserved a female puppy from the next litter. After six weeks, she drove about an hour west of Spokane and brought her home. In the photo my mom sent me, the tiny puppy fit in the palm of her hand. She named this puppy Molly, but I always called her Mahi.

Although I still missed Murphy deeply, I started bonding with Mahi, and before long, I became her favorite person. Whenever I stayed at my mom’s place, Mahi wanted to be wherever I was. She would follow me to the other side of the house and be waiting outside the bathroom door for me whenever I showered. In many instances, she didn't even want to go outside unless I went with her. At times, she didn't want to let me out of her sight, fearing I would leave again.

More than any other dog I’ve ever known, Mahi loved her toys, but they usually didn’t last very long, as she loved to rip the stuffing out of them. My mom often mended Mahi's toys on her sewing machine. While she was still a puppy, Mahi absolutely loved playing tug-of-war and would growl ferociously as she pulled with all her might on the other end of a stuffed toy. I was relieved when she grew out of her phase of chewing on everything, since I no longer had to worry about her destroying shoes or phone cords. Mahi also loved to steal napkins and tissues. She would root through my pockets, pull out a napkin or tissue, dash off with it, and then shred it all over the floor.

Mahi sometimes ran circles around the room, leaping onto the bed, dashing across to the other side, then racing around the room before jumping back onto the bed again. Mahi had her own unique version of playing frisbee. I would throw the frisbee, she’d run after it, but instead of bringing it back, she’d take off with it, and I’d end up chasing her. Once I caught up to her, I’d wrestle the frisbee out of her mouth, throw it again, and the whole cycle would repeat—her running off with the frisbee and me chasing her all over again.

Mahi was especially difficult to house train. For over a year, she continued to pee and poop on the carpet. Whenever I visited my mom, I would take her outside at regular intervals, give her treats, and offer encouragement whenever she relieved herself in the yard. In time, she became much more cooperative, eventually taking herself outside through the doggy door whenever she needed a bathroom break. Late at night before going to bed, I would roll Mahi over on her back, then pick her up holding her to my chest with her head resting on my shoulder as I carried her to the back yard for a final bathroom break before bed time.

Mahi was the most affectionate of any dog we've ever had. She laid at my feet as I wrote, recorded videos or did podcast interviews. She would lay in my lap, often for hours at a time during my meditation practice. She slept next to me at night and whenever I would lay down to take a nap, Mahi would jump onto the bed and lay beside me.

On Sunday November 3rd while I was in Oklahoma, my mom called to let me know that Mahi had been attacked by a much larger dog in the neighborhood when she had taken her out for a walk. Mahi was seriously injured in the attack and had been rushed to the emergency veterinary clinic, where they stitched up her wounds. I stayed in close contact with mom by phone in the days that followed, clinging to hope that Mahi would recover. Unfortunately, her condition took a turn for the worse, and Mom had to take her back to the emergency clinic. They performed surgery to remove the infection, but sadly, Mahi’s health continued to deteriorate as the infection from the multiple bite wounds began to have an adverse impact on her liver and other internal organs.

I called Mom in the moments just before Mahi was to be put down, speaking to her one last time, letting her know that I loved her and said that I hope she'll be waiting for me on the other side at the point when I cross over. We had Mahi cremated, so, whenever I do go back to visit mom, I'll have her ashes and Murphy's ashes sitting next to me as I do my meditation practice.

Mahi absolutely loved people, and they loved her too. In many instances, when mom spotted one of the neighbors, she would let go of the leash, and Mahi would run up to them, roll onto her back, and let them pet her. So many people in the neighborhood were upset when they learned that she had been attacked and had to be put down.

Losing Mahi is in many ways like losing a child. I have so many fond memories of her and I miss her terribly. If there’s one major drawback to becoming attached to a dog, it’s that their lifespans are so incredibly short. If you’re fortunate, you may have your dog for 14 years or more. But sometimes, they leave us far too soon, as was the case with Mahi. She was only three when she was attacked and subsequently had to be put down.

How Dogs Make Life Better

In our younger years, especially for those of us who went to college, we have large circles of friends and acquaintances, and our days are packed with parties, concerts, sporting events, and all kinds of activities. But as we get older, our lives change. People become more involved with their families or consumed by their work and other demands. Over time, many of us find ourselves spending more and more time alone.

For many of us, dogs make the best companions. When we have a dog, we have someone who truly cares for us, is overjoyed to see us, and genuinely wants to spend time with us. For some, the bond with their dog becomes the most loving and consistent emotional connection they have. This is especially true for seniors. Those who have dogs tend to live longer, and much of that has to do with the love and companionship their dog provides.

In a world where physical affection is often scarce, dogs offer a much-needed source of comfort. So many of us are touch-starved, yet dogs, being extraordinarily affectionate, help compensate for the lack of physical contact many of us experience with other human beings. They’re always thrilled to see us when we come home, want to be physically close to us, and seem to intuitively sense when we’re distressed and are there to support us.

Many of us lack meaningful emotional bonds, but dogs have an incredible ability to form deep connections with us—especially when we care for them in return. For all the love and companionship they offer, they require relatively little effort compared to raising a human. We don’t have to buy them clothing or spend years saving up to send them to college.

Dogs also help us break free from the sedentary patterns so many of us have fallen into. Too often, we spend hours scrolling through social media or binge-watching Netflix. Having a dog gets us up off the couch and out of the house. Dogs motivate us to go for walks or hikes, which not only keeps us in better shape but also enriches our lives in other ways, such as opening up opportunities to meet new people. A walk in the park could lead to a new friendship, a date, or even a deeper connection with someone.

People nowadays are so incredibly distracted, often stuck in a perpetual state of dissociation. We’re stressed about finances, working long hours, and in our free time, much of our attention is pulled into social media feeds or consumed by political dramas. Dogs, by contrast, are extraordinarily present. They help ground us in the here and now, bringing us back into the moment.

There are so many ways in which dogs are vastly underappreciated. For many of us, they’re the closest thing we’ll ever experience to unconditional love. They’re thrilled to see us, want to be held, and are a source of extraordinary comfort.

Many people in the United States are living alone, feeling lonely, and lacking meaningful connections. Yet, often, they have so much space in their homes, especially compared to people in developing nations. If that sounds like you, consider giving a dog a home. You could not only transform that dog’s life—you might just transform your own. And by taking in a dog from the shelter, you may be saving their life.

Throw away dogs

Around three million dogs are in shelters across the country. Nearly 360,000 were euthanized in 2023 alone. Much of this is because people continue to buy dogs from breeders and pet stores, many of which source their animals from puppy mills. The tragedy of this lies in the vast overpopulation of dogs. Consequently, so many beautiful dogs that could make wonderful companions, if more people were paying attention and were compassionate enough to adopt, are being euthanized every day.

Dogs end up homeless or in shelters for so many reasons. Sometimes their owner becomes seriously ill and can no longer care for them, or even pass away. Other times, it’s because the owner moves to an apartment that doesn’t allow pets. A couple might have a new baby and decide, “We can’t have a dog around.” Or an owner starts a new relationship, and their new girlfriend doesn’t like dogs.

It’s especially bad for pit bulls. Thanks to the “if it bleeds, it leads” mentality of the media, any attack involving a pit bull is sensationalized, painting them as horrific monsters. The fact is, pit bulls typically only become aggressive when they’ve been abused or trained to fight. By nature, pit bulls are incredibly loving and affectionate dogs. Sadly, more than any other breed, pit bulls are being euthanized at an alarmingly high rate.

That’s why I encourage you, before going to a breeder or pet store, to visit your local shelter. Take the time to see if there’s a dog you resonate with. Spend time observing the dogs, and if one catches your attention, sit with it to see how you connect. You might just find a wonderful companion waiting for you.

Mom already has a new dog. She was devastated by Mahi’s death, feeling completely overwhelmed with grief. I encouraged her to visit a shelter, explaining everything I’ve just shared. However, she was determined to have another schnauzer. Some friends of hers traveled to Montana and brought back a schnauzer from a breeder they knew.

Part of me felt bad—even guilty—about the fact that Mom chose to get her new dog from a breeder instead of adopting a dog from a shelter. Every time we acquire our dogs through breeders and pet stores, we’re perpetuating the suffering of dogs. As more and more litters are produced, we contribute to the overpopulation of dogs. Millions more will end up in shelters, and hundreds of thousands will be euthanized every year.

Life Moves On

I was hopeful that Mahi would recover and that she would still be there when I returned for the holidays. Unfortunately, her organs began to fail, and even though she was medicated, she was experiencing a great deal of pain. It saddens me to know that when I visit Mom, she will no longer be there. I’ll miss having her in my lap during meditation sessions, our long walks, and seeing her excitement whenever she spotted a deer.

Since Mahi's passing, I've been bringing her into my awareness, sometimes just imagining holding her close. At times, I feel this profound sadness and ache throughout my chest. As that happens, I'll breathe softly and deeply from the depths of these feelings. Although it hurts, breathing from the depths of our feelings of grief, sadness and loss opens our hearts in a way that increases our capacity to love and to experience compassion for ourselves and others.

I feel deeply saddened by the loss of Mahi, Murphy, and other dogs that have been a part of my life. Over time, I’ve become more accepting of the fact that their lives are so short. Yet this has also made me more appreciative of the connections I share with them—whether it’s the dogs that belong to friends or the street dogs I encounter. Sometimes it’s as simple as saying, “Hey, I see you. I care about you. Even if I’m not in a position to take you in and give you a home, I do care about you.” I make it a point to connect with them in those moments.

©Copyright 2024 Ben Oofana. All Rights Reserved.

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